


sure as a wave needs to be near the shore

by xavierurban



Series: JayTim Month-ish 2019 [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Blood, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Gore, Jason Todd is one stubborn bastard, Latino Jason Todd, Lazarus Pit, M/M, Massacre, Reunions, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death, The All Caste, Urban Fantasy, Visions, but not exactly a soulmate au, demon hunter!jason todd, i’m sorry i had this planned out before i finished rhato, the chamber of All, they're not exactly common but they do exist between some people with magic, villain!Essence, witch!jason todd, witch!tim drake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:36:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban
Summary: When Jason Todd’s surrogate coven, The All Caste, are slaughtered by one of their own, Jason returns to his hometown of Gotham, looking for Talia al Ghul, the foster mother who had sent him to the ancient coven of demon slayers in the first place.Late submission for JayTimWeek2019 Week 7: Urban Fantasy





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a three-parter, but i’m already late on getting it in in time for the event, so i’ve decided to split the first part and make it a four-parter overall. i hope it won’t throw off the pacing too much >.>; i have bits and pieces of the rest of this written, but it may be a bit before the next update. now that jaytim month-ish is officially over, i’m due at _least_ one update on my broken roads series. but this story _will_ be finished, and hopefully before the end of the year >.>;
> 
> before we get started, i have a few small notes on world-building, etc.:  
soulmates aren’t a frequent thing, but they aren’t unheard of, either. they only ever occur between pairings who are both of magical blood (about a fifth of the world’s population), and about 10% of said magical population has a soulmate. said soulmates are linked psychically for life, and will often see glimpses of one another's life. additionally, i’ve played fast and loose with some milestones from canon: catherine todd died just after jason turned nine, and his father was already out of the picture; he was found and adopted by talia roughly five months later; tim’s parents died when he was eleven, and bruce adopted him shortly thereafter; talia introduced damian to bruce when he was six, and while bruce now has primary custody, talia and ra’s are still actively involved in his life and talia is primarily based in gotham; in this story, dick is just shy of twenty-three, jason is nineteen, tim is seventeen, and damian is nine and a half. i'm still undecided on if cass and duke will appear in the story, but if they do, i'll be sure to put their ages into a note, as well.
> 
> trigger warnings for this chapter: vomiting, violence, blood, decapitation, murder, and death
> 
> title from forever yours from once on this island

Tim wakes with a gasp, his body tacky and cold with sweat, and immediately lunges out of his bed; he barely makes it to the waste basket by his dresser before he pukes, vomit burning at his throat and nostrils as his eyes water. He sucks in a few sharp breaths before the second wave hits, and then, finally, he collapses backwards, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling as he catches his breath.  
  
He mouth tastes horrible, but he barely notices past the way his mind is spinning. He knows, without a doubt, that that was no ordinary nightmare, but believing that means accepting the truth: his soulmate is dying. Tears stream down his cheeks as he watches the fan blades go around and around above him.  
  
The moment he closes his eyes, it’s as if he’s back in the vision, and Tim tries to catalogue what he can. The room he’s in is isn't really a room at all. It's not quite a hall, either, but Tim doesn't know what else to call it. It's vast, and chaotic; multi-levelled, and full of staircases cutting off in different directions, with blue portals swirling in false doorways and heavily sealed doors of all shapes and sizes scattered around seemingly randomly. Tim has seen it before in other visions of his soulmate's life. This time, however, there’s blood everywhere, spattered across the walls, and pooling on the floor around the bodies.  
  
God, the _bodies._  
  
The entire hall is engulfed in flames, but the way the bodies have been cut down where they stood makes it clear that asphyxiation wasn’t the cause of death. One of the bodies is that of a short, elderly woman who Tim recognizes as the leader of his soulmate's coven.  
  
As if the entire scene wasn’t horrific enough, there’s a young man kneeling next to the woman’s body, the white material of his uniform soaked in crimson blood. There’s a gaping wound across his gut, glistening with slick blood and shimmering a faint green with the magic the man must be using the hold himself together. With seemingly great difficulty, he pushes himself to his feet, bends with a cry of pain to heft the woman’s body into his arms, and it's then that Tim is able to see his face, instantly recognizing him as his soulmate.  
  
Tim wants to scream at him that she’s dead, that he needs to _leave_ before the flames finish what the blade had not--  
  
\--but he can’t. All he can do is watch in silence as the man takes one painstaking step after another, his body swaying as blood drips down his neck and his back from a head wound. The man stumbles, and drops down to one knee with a choked cry, sucking in sharp, wet breaths before forcing himself back to his feet.  
  
The wound on his gut spills blood like a river and he screams as he drops the spell and, instead, grips the woman’s body close as he murmurs an incantation that Tim recognizes as a teleportation spell.  
  
Tim’s awareness spirals away with the pair, and he opens his eyes with great effort. He waits for another wave of sickness, but it never comes. Slowly, he sits up, and then grips the dresser for support as he pushes himself to his feet so that he can head into the bathroom and rinse his mouth.  
  
Thoughts swirl through his mind as he goes through the motions, but every thread he tries to follow ends abruptly, leaving him with no answers.  
  
Why was his soulmate's coven attacked? Why would he risk going back for his leader's body? Is there any hope of the other man's survival?  
  
Tim has to believe that there is. Somehow.  
  
After all, how can they be soulmates if they never even got the chance to meet?

* * *

Jason can sense that something is wrong the moment he clears the wards. He’s early, isn’t really expected to be back for at least two more days, but he had managed to catch his prey off-guard while it was feeding, and there was no point in delaying his return. Better to debrief while everything was still fresh in his mind.  
  
He isn’t sure how he knows that something is wrong - there are no alarms blaring, no other members of the coven frantically rushing around the corridors. Perhaps it’s that, that tips him off; the hallways leading to the Chamber of All are never this quiet, this abandoned. There’s always _someone _coming or going.  
  
Erring on the side of caution, Jason draws his sword as he slips further down the hall, sticking to the shadows as he makes his way towards the Chamber’s entrance.  
  
Even S’aru is missing from his post outside of the Chamber, and Jason _knows _that he’s right to be worried.  
  
No gut instinct or sixth sense could have prepared him for the sight that greets him when he steps inside, and his breath slips away from him as he takes in the carnage.  
  
There are bodies _everywhere_, what appears to be the entirety of the All Caste has been cut down, and Jason is nearly sick as the names of each of his peers and teachers flit through his mind when he identifies them. There’s so much blood, and the air stinks with the scent of iron and death.  
  
_Ducra_, he thinks, _Essence.___  
__  
He has to find them.  
  
They can’t be-  
  
There’s no screaming directing him where to look next, so Jason can only slink through the room with his eyes peeled for both friend and foe. He trips, and gags when he looks down to see the beheaded body of one of his fallen comrades; he can’t even be sure who it is, not in their generic training armour.  
  
_What the Hell happened here?_ he wonders, and, then, _Why aren’t the alarms sounding?___  
__  
He swallows back the bile rising in his throat and pushes onwards, following one of the stone staircases leading down.  
  
He has no doubt that it will lead him where he has to go.  
  
That doesn’t mean he’s expecting what he gets.  
  
A shout leaves his lips too late as he watches Essence drive her sword into her mother’s chest, straight through her heart.  
  
“No!” He shouts, charging towards the pair of them even as Essence yanks her sword free and Ducra falls, the front of her robes rapidly turning red with her own blood.  
  
Essence turns, surprise writ clearly on her features as she spots him, but her sword doesn’t fall from it’s defensive position in front of her.  
  
“Jason?” She says, falling back half a step as Jason throws himself towards her and their blades meet with a clash.  
  
“What have you done?” He roars at her, the force of his next blow driving her back further away from Ducra’s fallen body, “Traitor!”  
  
He swings again, but Essence is ready for him this time, and she neatly sidesteps the blade and allows Jason’s own momentum to assist her in taking him down. She jumps at him from behind, kicking him square in the back and sending him hurtling over the edge and down to the next level of the Chamber.  
  
He goes down hard, his sword tumbling from his hand and his head bouncing off of the stone floor beneath him, and Jason bites down on his tongue to abort the scream that wants to escape. His vision swims, and his movements are too sluggish to stop Essence from straddling him after she jumps down to join him. Her grip on his wrists is tight, but her eyes are wide and imploring as she stares down at him.  
  
"Calm yourself," she tells him, and Jason grits his teeth as she settles her weight more evenly over him, "I've no desire to hurt you, Jason."  
  
Jason scoffs, biting back a retort about how his head and back would beg to differ. Or how the slaughter of their people has already hurt him more than any injury ever could.  
  
"Join me, my love," she continues, "Join me, and rule by my side."  
  
"You're insane," Jason spits, "We don't _rule_. We're protectors! What happened to you, Ess?"  
  
"You were promised _to me_," she rages, "But my mother would have you for _her _heir. I won't stand for it!" She leans in, her face inches from Jason's own, "Join me, Jason. You and I, the next generation of al Ghuls, the sole survivors of the All Caste… Imagine all that we could _do_."  
  
Jason shudders, his head still swimming, and forces himself to hold her gaze even as he tries to twist free of her grip. She snarls, snapping her teeth at him as her grip on his wrists tightens.  
  
"I would sooner _die_," he tells her, and Essence reels back as if she's been struck.  
  
Jason yanks his hands free and pushes her square in the chest, a burst of pure energy sending her backwards as he scrambles to his feet and lunges for his sword.  
  
He gets his hands on it as she shrieks, an inhuman sound that seems to echo off of the walls.  
  
She charges at him, her own sword drawn, and the clash of metal against metal rings just as loudly.  
  
"Then so be it," she spits, and Jason can't even hope to fight back, too busy blocking blow after blow as she swings wildly but with clear intent.  
  
It feels like it goes on forever, their blades singing against each other as they fight, and then-  
  
Pain bursts behind Jason’s eyelids, a stuttered gasp of breath escaping him as he looks down to see fresh blood dripping from her sword. He blinks, one hand moving in an attempt to cover the wide, gaping hole splitting his abdomen. His sword falls from his other hand as he stumbles back a step, and he looks at Essence with wide, betrayed eyes.  
  
He sucks in a sharp breath, and then Essence goes low, swinging out with a kick that knocks his feet out from underneath him. Jason hits the ground once more, coughing up blood that he’s only barely able to turn his head in order to spit out.  
  
Essence cries out with rage across from him, and lifts her arms out at her sides, and Jason can only watch, helpless and panting as the Chamber becomes engulfed by flames. He wonders, for a moment, which will kill him first - the poison spreading through him from her glazed sword, or the flames that are already beginning to spread towards him.  
  
She turns back to stare at him for a moment, and Jason thinks it might actually be genuine sorrow on her face when she looks him over.  
  
“I tried,” she calls out, “I gave you a choice, Jason. You chose wrong.”  
  
He doesn’t have the chance to answer before she disappears in a swirl of magic.  
  
Jason lies there, gasping for breath through the blood that’s choking him, and reaches deep within himself for his magic, suppressed as it is by Essence’s poison. He chokes on a scream as he calls it forward, directing it, first, towards forming a barrier around his heart to slow the spread of the poison, and then towards his wounded gut. It won’t be strong enough to heal him, to stitch the damaged organs back up, or even to knit together his skin, but it will keep his insides from becoming his outsides, at least.  
  
He hopes.  
  
He grits his teeth, smothering a shout as he forces himself first into a sitting position, and, then, onto his feet.  
  
He needs to get out before the fire grows too widespread. His gaze flits upwards towards the platform where he’d watched Essence slay her mother, and swallows hard.  
  
He can’t leave Ducra here to burn.  
  
Every step he takes back up the stairs is wrought with pain, and his vision goes dark several times, but Jason pushes through.  
  
_Get Ducra_, he thinks, again and again, _Get Ducra. Get out. Get help.___  
__  
He stumbles, collapsing to his knees when he finally reaches her, and reaches out with trembling hands to close her eyes.  
  
_I’m sorry_, he thinks, _I should have been here.___  
__  
The heat of the fire grows as flames inch closer, licking at his feet, and Jason forces himself back to his feet. He can’t quite bite back his shout of pain as he bends to lift Ducra’s body - no, _Ducra_ \- into his arms, but what does it matter? There’s no one left to hear his weakness.  
  
He’s unsteady on his feet as he takes one slow, excruciating step after another. He stumbles again, after clearing the next staircase, and chokes on an aborted scream as he goes down on one knee. He pushes himself to his feet again, screaming out in pain as he drops the spells keeping him together, and tightens his hold on his mentor.  
  
He’ll never make it like this, not with the fire to contend with, and so he repeats the same spell Essence had used mere minutes before, and tries not to be sick.  
  
The spell only takes them as far as the entrance hall, the wards of their home preventing teleportation in and out, and Jason quickly reestablishes the spell that he’d been using to keep his wound closed and the poison at bay. His head pounds, and his vision blurs, and Jason _knows _what he just did was stupid, knows that he can’t afford to lose anymore blood, but they needed to get away from the fire faster than he was going to be able to on his own two feet.  
  
He bites his lip to hold back a groan as he shifts his grip on Ducra and forces himself back to his feet. A retinal scan has the door swinging open for him a moment later, and Jason makes his way through.  
  
One step at a time, he tells himself. Repeats it over and over again in his mind like one of Ducra’s mantras.  
  
Every time he stumbles, he pushes through.  
  
Every time he falls, struggling to carry Ducra’s weight while navigating the mountains surrounding the Chamber of All, he gets back up. Rocks cut into his feet, and the wind and snow leave his skin chapped and his body chilled to its very core, but he keeps going.  
  
It takes hours to clear the wards preventing him from teleporting again, and when he finally does, Jason isn’t so sure that he can risk it.  
  
What good is it, to make it this far, if he just kills himself trying to shorten the journey?  
  
So he keeps walking, so slowly he thinks he may never make it this way, either, not injured and exposed to the elements as he is.  
  
But he has to _try._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a _lot_ longer than i expected it to, and i am so very sorry for that. i hope you'll find it to have been worth the wait ♥ the parts that i finished today are also only semi-proofread, so i apologize for any mistakes!
> 
> in the section from jason's pov, i should warn for an instance of self-harm (used in conjecture with blood magic, not any other reason). i'll also warn for blood/gore, and character death.

Tim calls in sick to work, because his mind is reeling, and he's having trouble keeping his emotions level. Every time he closes his eyes, he can see the carnage his soulmate had witnessed in what Tim can only assume were his final moments.  
  
He's a realist, and always has been. The longer he’s thought about it, the more sure Tim is that there's simply no way that the other man made it out alive, not with such an aggressive injury.  
  
It hurts to admit, and Tim can't deny that he's angry about it. What was the point in assigning him a soulmate if they were never even going to have the chance to meet? It isn't fair, and Tim has to wonder if the universe has something against him. First his parents, and now his soulmate, too.  
  
If it weren't for how welcoming the Waynes have been, he'd be inclined to think that the powers that be want him to be alone.  
  
Somehow, he's still surprised when he wakes from a fitful nap to a cool cloth being pressed to his forehead.  
  
He blinks a few times as he presses into it, and then finally looks up.  
  
"Bruce?" He asks, blinking once more, but his adopted father is still there when his eyes open again, sitting on the side of his bed like it's completely normal for him to be there.  
  
"You must be feeling quite rough," he says, his voice smooth and comforting in a way that makes Tim's heart ache, "I couldn't even convince you to take time off when you had pneumonia."  
  
Tim snorts, but his eyes mist over despite the slight amusement. Bruce looks alarmed, if a little blurry, and Tim rolls over to fit himself up against him, his head tucked against Bruce’s thigh.  
  
"Tim?" He asks, setting the cloth aside and stroking his fingers through Tim's hair instead, "What's going on?"  
  
Tim stays quiet for a while, and lets himself enjoy the calming touch until he realises that if he doesn't speak, he might just fall back to sleep.  
  
"I think my soulmate was just murdered," he says finally, voice quiet enough that if it weren't for the way Bruce's hand stops moving he'd think he hadn't even heard, "His whole coven, I think."  
  
"You think?" Bruce says after a while, his fingers resuming their path through his hair.  
  
"Yeah," Tim whispers, "He- He wasn't, yet. But."  
  
Tim swallows hard, his eyes closing, "But I don't think he could have survived."  
  
It's a testament to Bruce's faith in Tim's ability to not blow things out of proportion that he doesn't try to argue, or even ask Tim if he's _ sure _ .  
  
Instead, he just leans down a bit awkwardly to press a kiss to his son's forehead.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Timothy," he murmurs.  
  
Tim hums, but doesn't say anything else, and after a while, Bruce stands up and leaves the room. Tim would worry, but he hears him puttering around in the kitchen a few moments later.  
  
He returns eventually, and Tim sits up when he smells coffee. There are two steaming mugs of it, as well as a bowl of corn chowder and a buttered roll, on the tray Bruce is carrying, and Tim shuffles over so Bruce can join him in sitting back against his headboard.  
  
"Thanks," he says, carefully taking the tray and settling it across his lap.  
  
Bruce just offers him a sad smile as he settles in next to him and grabs the cup of coffee that's been cut with a splash of cream.  
  
"Eat," he says, and Tim obeys. He's a lot hungrier than he expected to be, and realises it a few bites in. Still, he forces himself to eat at a normal pace instead of shovelling it all into his mouth.  
  
Bruce waits until he's finished before he takes the tray and sets it aside, and then says, "You said it was his whole coven."  
  
Tim stares down at the mug in his hands, swirling the last dregs of his coffee around.  
  
"Yeah," he says eventually, "It was- It was awful. They were slaughtered, there's no other word for it."  
  
"There's been nothing in the news," Bruce tells him, his brow furrowed, "You may need to report it."  
  
Tim heaves a sigh, and shuts his eyes, his head falling back against the headboard.  
  
"I can't," he says, then explains, "I don't know who they are. Or where they are."  
  
Bruce makes a soft noise of surprise, and Tim peaks an eye open to look at him.   
  
"How can you not know?"  
  
"I don't know!" Tim says, frustration suddenly clear in both his tone and the way he holds himself tighter, "My visions of him have been so foggy, for as long as I've been old enough to really remember them, like there's some kind of enchantment clouding them. This was the clearest one I’ve ever had. I don't even know his _ name _ , Bruce!"  
  
Bruce hums, a thoughtful expression on his face, and Tim tilts his head, looking at him properly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"There are old magics," Bruce finally says, "Protective magics, ones that have been known to shield even one's soulmate from any insight into their life. But there are so few covens, nowadays, that would even know of them, forget being able to cast and uphold them."  
  
He frowns, and fixes Tim with a steady look.  
  
"Can you think of anything, from this vision or any others, that may suggest where this coven is based?"  
  
"I think… that he changed covens, a few years ago," Tim says after a long moment, "Or his coven has multiple bases, because I remember the desert, but it's been a while since then, and the people are different. There are mountains, wherever he is now. Wherever he _ was _ . And… it's definitely old, but not dated. Just, like, Old old." He frowns, and then adds, "And it's very strange. There's this… room that makes no sense. Just stairs and doors everywhere."  
  
He hesitates, and then adds, "That's- That's where they were, when I saw them today."  
  
"An Old World coven in the mountains," Bruce confirms, and Tim nods, "And a secretive one, at that..." His brows pinch together, a clear note of both concern and doubt, and then he asks, "Have you seen their leader?"  
  
"Yeah," Tim says, "She's old. Like, really old. Maybe older than Damian's grandfather, or she looks it, at least. And she's very short, and her hair is solid white. Unnaturally so, like Ra's."  
  
"It seems impossible," Bruce murmurs, voice slightly awed, and Tim frowns at him.  
  
"What does?"  
  
"There's an ancient coven of demon slayers in the Himalayas, called the All Caste," Bruce explains, "Led by a woman named Ducra, who fits your description. But an attack on the Chamber of All would be nigh on impossible. Between their own wards, and their divine protection..."  
  
Tim shudders, and thinks back to the images of the fallen coven. It's _ possible _ that a demon was responsible, but the wounds all had a distinctly human quality to them. What need would a demon have for swords? Especially one powerful enough to breach a holy place?  
  
Could he be mistaken? Could it have been claws, rather than a blade?  
  
"Is there a way to know for sure? If it was the All Caste?"  
  
"Maybe," Bruce says, "I need to speak with Talia."  
  
"Talia?" Tim asks, surprised, "Why Talia?"  
  
"The League of Shadows have a stronghold of their own in the Himalayas," he explains, "If she has anyone stationed there, they may be able to send out a scout."  
  
"She'd do that? Just based on a hunch?"  
  
Bruce sighs, and reaches up to rub his temples.  
  
"The All Caste are the League's oldest ally," he explains, and Tim can't shake the feeling that he's leaving something out, "She would want to confirm, in case it's true."  
  
Bruce stands then, deftly doing up the buttons on his blazer, and then leans down to press a kiss to the top of Tim’s head.   
  
“Rest some more, Timothy,” he says, “You’ve been dealt quite a shock. I can have most of your work reassigned, if you wish to take more time off.”   
  
Tim makes a soft noise of protest, and Bruce cuts him a sharp look as he straightens back up.   
  
“Rest now,” he repeats, “You can let me know later, after I’ve spoken with Talia.”   
  
Tim lets out a long sigh of defeat, and then flops down in his bed with a scowl on his face, making Bruce snort with amusement.   
  
“Yes, I know,” Bruce sympathises, “A whole day spent in bed, such a terrible hardship.”   
  
Tim huffs, and burrows underneath the blankets, reaching out only to flip Bruce off, which draws a laugh from the older man a moment before he hears the bedroom door click closed.

* * *

Tim finally crawls out of bed around four, forcing himself under the cold spray of his shower just long enough to scrub himself clean of the tacky nightmare-induced sweat coating his skin, and then stumbles into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.  
  
He’s on his third cup, sipping at it blankly as he watches the Tupperware container filled with Alfred’s lasagna spinning in circles in the microwave, when he hears a key turning in the lock on his front door.   
  
He doesn’t bother moving, except to free his dinner when the microwave beeps. He sets it on the counter, and then just stares at it as Bruce lets himself in and then makes his way through the penthouse. He throws back the last dregs of his coffee and then sets the mug aside, and jolts when Bruce brushes his wet hair back from his face and plants a kiss on his temple.   
  
Bruce doesn’t say anything, at first, just pulls open the silverware drawer and takes out a fork that he then presses into Tim’s hand.   
  
“Eat,” he rumbles, and Tim obeys, his movements more mechanical than natural, but at least he’s eating, so Bruce can’t really complain, can he?  
  
Bruce putters around the kitchen, heating up a kettle and preparing two mugs for tea, as Tim finishes eating. When he’s finally finished, Bruce slides a mug of peppermint tea towards him.  
  
“I wish that I had answers for you, son,” Bruce says, and Tim feels his stomach drop as he forces himself to take a sip of his tea.   
  
It was a dead-end, then, talking to Talia, and Tim wishes he hadn’t put so much hope into the idea. It was just… Bruce had sounded so sure in his conclusions.   
  
“It’s okay,” Tim says, because it’s what he’s supposed to say, even if it’s not how he feels.   
  
Bruce frowns, and reaches out to grip Tim’s shoulder firmly.  
  
“The League base in the area has been abandoned for some time,” he explains, and Tim cocks his head a little, “But Talia promised to investigate our suspicions herself. She was making arrangements to leave before I’d even left the office.”   
  
“Wow,” Tim says, a little bit stunned. Sure, Bruce had said that the All Caste and the League went way back or whatever, but for Talia to see to this personally? That was… a lot. And while Tim knew that it was no favour to himself, he felt grateful nonetheless that Talia was taking this seriously.   
  
“Wait,” he adds, a frown beginning to twist at his lips as a thought hits him, “This is supposed to be her weekend with Damian.”   
  
Bruce sighs, and gives Tim’s shoulder another squeeze before letting go. He takes up his own mug of tea, and swallows down a good quarter of it in one swig.   
  
“Yes,” he agrees, “We’re going to have to reschedule. Talia was insistent that Damian would understand so long as I was honest with him about why she was leaving.”   
  
“Typical,” Tim scoffs, “She left it to you to tell him.”   
  
“She wanted to be in the air as quickly as possible,” Bruce reasons, “And thought it best that one of us speak with him in person, rather than her calling him from the plane.”   
  
Tim sighs, but he has to admit that it’s not a bad point.   
  
Still, Damian is going to be a nightmare for a few days; he always gets that way when he feels like his mother isn’t giving him enough attention. Tim is suddenly very, very glad that he no longer resides at Wayne Manor.   
  
“Good luck,” he says finally, then adds, “Maybe Dick will take him, instead.”   
  
Bruce hums, but there’s a troubled expression on his face that Tim can’t quite parse out.   
  
He shrugs, and finishes his tea in silence.

* * *

Jason stops only twice on his trek towards the League’s stronghold; the first time, mere hours into his journey, to tear at the material of one of his pant legs and affix it as best he can around the gaping wound in his gut. On its own, it’s a useless effort, but Jason hopes that it will be enough to support the spell he’s using to keep his insides from falling out. The second time he stops, it’s because he recognizes the signs of dehydration growing worse after two days of painstaking travel. He scoops several handfuls of snow into his palms, and forces himself to consume what he can despite the way the damp, frigid air around him has already chilled him to the bone.  
  
Despite the magic keeping it from reaching his heart, Jason can feel the poison finding its own way through him. He can only hope that he reaches his destination before it overpowers his ever-weakening spell.  
  
Or before the frostbite gets to him.   
  
He’s been running on pure stubbornness for what feels like an eternity, no longer really feeling any _ hope _ , when he finally crosses into the outer borders of the League’s property.   
  
_ Just a little further now _ , he tells himself. He spares a moment to consider teleporting himself up to the Temple, now that they’re within the wards, but he knows it’s too risky. He’s lost too much blood already; anything more, and Jason knows he’s putting his entire mission in jeopardy.   
  
His cheeks are streaked with tears, hours later, when he finally approaches the doors to the Temple at the centre of the base.   
  
This is going to be the moment of truth, isn’t it?   
  
Talia had promised him that the wards on any and every League property would accept him as an al Ghul after the blood-oath he had taken upon his adoption, but Jason’s never actually had cause to test it before.   
  
If Talia had lied - or if she’d simply been _ wrong _ \- then this whole struggle has been for nothing.   
  
Jason swallows hard, and glances down at Ducra’s body, still a heavy weight in his numb arms all these days later; he tells himself that it’s going to work.  
  
That it _ has _ to work.   
  
He shifts his grip as carefully as he can until one of his hands is free, and then reaches for the kris tucked into its sheath at his hip; he tosses it up carefully, catching it by the blade as it comes back down, and squeezes hard until he feels the sharp sting of his flesh splitting and the slippery wetness of his own blood coating his palm.   
  
He tucks the kris back into its scabbard, and then raises his dripping hand to the crack between the two temple doors. With a cry, he releases the spells binding his body together, and murmurs, instead, the incantation that Ra’s and Talia both had taken the time to ensure he knew.   
  
Nothing happens for several long seconds that seem to extend into a small eternity and, then, suddenly, the doors fly open in a swirl of green energy, and Jason takes a moment to revel in the fact that it _ worked _ .   
  
But only a moment, because he isn’t done - not yet. It wouldn’t do to make it this far only to fail now.   
  
Jason shuffles forward one step at a time, his eyes fixed on the large pool of luminescent green liquid at the centre of the room. He jolts, slightly, when the doors slam closed behind him, but keeps walking, until he’s just before the pool. His stomach and thighs are hot with the blood gushing down over frozen flesh, and his heart stutters weakly in his chest, but Jason smiles beatifically as he hefts Ducra’s body over the ledge and pushes her forward into the Lazarus waters.   
  
The smile remains as he drops to his knees, his eyes closing as he sways several times before falling down.   
  
_ I did it_, he thinks, _ I saved her. _

* * *

Despite the pain coursing through her body, no scream or cry leaves her lips as Ducra comes to. Her eyes open to a sea of green, and she spreads her arms out to her sides. The green liquid slides down her body, dripping off and falling back into the pool beneath her as she rises out of it.  
  
Her eyes cast about slowly, taking in the stone chamber and flickering torches hanging on the walls. She knows this place, though it has been a great many years since she last stepped foot inside. The al Ghul's Himalayan temple stands less than a day's journey from the Chamber of All, provided one teleports from the edge of one ward to the other, trekking only the distance that they absolutely must.  
  
Ducra remembers making no such trip.  
  
She closes her eyes, and memory doesn't so much filter through as slams back to the forefront of her mind. The battle cries. The alarms disabled. The slaughter of her coven.  
  
The betrayal of her own daughter running her through with a sword.  
  
Without an alarm, there is no doubt that neither Talia nor Ra's could have arrived in time.  
  
Then how?  
  
Only an al Ghul is capable of opening the temple doors.  
  
Her eyes snap open an instant later, gaze searching wildly until it falls on the slumped, bloody form on the floor.  
  
Of course.  
  
Jason.  
  
Willful, stubborn Jason, the only al Ghul in the All Caste.  
  
She descends from her place above the Lazarus Pit, landing without a sound next to the boy - for he _ is _ just a boy, his years barely numbering nineteen.  
  
"Oh, you fool boy," she scolds, gaze lingering on the pool of blood he lies in as she kneels. Deft fingers find his wrist, and then his neck, but she already knows; the breath of life has left him.  
  
But it hasn't been long; his skin is still warm to the touch.  
  
Gathering her power to her, she lifts the boy's lifeless body into the air, standing up herself as she levitates him until he is above the Pit and, then, slowly submerges him near the edge.  
  
He is still below the surface for a few long moments and then, unlike herself, he comes to thrashing in the water. He screams as he breaks the surface, a haunting sound ripped from his very core, and Ducra reaches out, carefully resting a hand on his shoulder.  
  
He spins to face her, eyes wild and face pinched with pain, but she meets his gaze calmly.  
  
"Hush, child," she snaps, and Jason jolts beneath her hand.  
  
"Du-," he starts, shoulders heaving as he tries to gulp in enough air, "Ducra?"  
  
He sounds pained, and his gaze mists over between one moment and the next. He lunges for her, but with the walls of the pool in his way, he comes up short, catching only the tattered material at the bottom of her robe in his hands.  
  
He says her name again, this time a mere whisper, spoken like a prayer.  
  
"Hush," she says again, and gently pries his hands from her robe before levitating him out of the water and setting him down next to her.  
  
"Oh, you stupid boy," she says, a note of fondness in her voice as she smooths wet hair away from his face, "What have you done?"  
  
"Couldn't let you die," he rasps, and she tutts at him, "T-too… important."  
  
"And if the pit had failed?" She demands, angry in a way she rarely is with Jason, "If I was already too far gone? You ought to have thrown yourself in first."  
  
Jason shakes his head, and stares up at her miserably.  
  
"At least I'd have tried."  
  
Ducra sighs, and her anger bleeds away as quickly as it had come on.  
  
"What am I going to do with you?" She asks, speaking up towards the heavens as much as she is to Jason.  
  
Jason chuckles, and closes his eyes as he moves to rest his head in her lap.  
  
"Love me?" He says, and she can't help but roll her eyes, even as she starts to run her fingers through his wet, tangled curls.  
  
"You know I do," she replies quietly, and Jason sighs contentedly.  
  
"Love you, too," he murmurs, "So glad it worked."  
  
With his eyes still closed, Ducra doesn't try to hide the fond smile twisting at her lips as she looks down at him and eases his way into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! there are definitely still two more parts to this story, but i think i've finally learned better than to make any promises in regards to how long they'll take >.>;
> 
> feel free to hit me up any time on [tumblr](https://atasteforsuicidal.tumblr.com/) with questions, comments, etc.! i'm aways happy to talk about fic stuff or general batfam stuff!


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